


While Summer Lasts

by springsnow



Series: Sehnsucht [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anger, Break Up, Crying, Gen, Guilt, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mild Blood, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 11:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19829575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springsnow/pseuds/springsnow
Summary: Marcel wishes it wereauf wiedersehen.





	While Summer Lasts

**Author's Note:**

> I already wrote the regression fic inspired by the beatdown, but I just had to write something nice and angsty as a follow-up to _Who Knows What We Speak To The Dark_. A brief note on translations: my German is a little rusty, but I know enough to know that _auf wiedersehen_ carries the implication that you’ll be seeing the person you’re saying it to again. _Lebewohl_ , on the other hand, is much more final—it implies you’ll never see each other again. This is set immediately after Trent came out and did his speech on last week's NXT UK. I know there's probably no changing rooms like the ones I've described here at Download, but I plead artistic license, your honour. Title taken and translated from the 13th century song _Miri it is while sumer ilast_ (modern English: “Merry it is while summer lasts”).

“You.”

Marcel’s never seen Trent this angry before, and frankly, it’s fucking terrifying. He was already wondering if maybe this had all been a mistake and he should just leave, but now he knows for sure. But he can’t move. Something’s rooting him to the spot—terror, guilt, frustration, maybe a combination of all three—and all he can do is sit where he is and stare up at Trent, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming sixteen-wheeler.

“Trent,” he says meekly, and clears his throat, “Trent, I’m sorry—”

Before he can get any further, Trent’s fist connects, hard, with his jaw. The shock of the blow sends Marcel toppling backwards off the bench, and it would probably be comical in any other situation. He doesn’t even have time to readjust before Trent’s grabbing him by the collar and hoisting him up, pressing him against the lockers. There’s a look in his eyes that Marcel’s never seen before and his teeth are bared. It’s the kind of look you only ever see in nature documentaries, wolves and bears who have just seen some stupid bastard messing with their cubs. “Sorry?” he barks in Marcel’s face, shaking him a little. “You handcuff me to the ring post and force me to watch that big ugly bastard knock my best friend unconscious _and you’ve got the fucking balls to show up here and try and tell me you’re fucking SORRY_?!”

Trent yanks Marcel away from the lockers and throws him across the room, sending him sprawling on the floor. Marcel lifts his head; there’s something warm and sticky trickling from his nose. Trent leans down over him, grabbing him by the hair.

“You want to tell me you’re sorry, do you? You want to pretend you give a shit about me and Tyler?”

“Trent, please, I never wanted to—”

“Never wanted to what?” Trent lets go of Marcel’s hair, stands up and circles around to stand in front of him. “Never wanted to hold me down so Wolfe could attack me? Never wanted to handcuff me to the post? Never wanted to laugh in my face while I watched Tyler get beaten half to death? You’re a fucking coward. I hope you know that.”

Marcel presses his face into the cold floor and sniffles helplessly. Trent’s right. He _is_ a coward. If he really cared about Trent, he would’ve said no. He wouldn’t have sat astride him and let Alex punch him over and over again. He certainly wouldn’t have cuffed him to the post.

“Why are you here?” Trent sits down on the floor, back against the wall that separates the showers from the rest of the changing room, his hair a mess and his pupils still blown. “What do you want from me, Marcel? You want me to say _I know, baby, it’s all OK and I still love you_?”

 _Yes._ “No.”

“Then why did you come?”

Marcel sits up. He’s a little woozy, but he’s clear-headed enough to give Trent his answer: “To apologise. But you don’t seem interested.”

Trent scoffs. “To put it lightly.”

Marcel wipes the trickle of blood from his upper lip. He’ll have to see to his nose in a bit, but it’s the last thing on his mind right now. He licks his lips. “How’s Tyler?”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Trent says bitterly.

“Do what?”

“Pretend you care about him. You don’t.”

Marcel opens his mouth to protest, but then thinks better of it. He sighs softly and looks down at his hands. 

“I love you,” he says thickly, cursing himself for not saying it sooner. For not saying it before everything happened. For not saying it before Walter told him his plan. It’s bitter now; the words taste foul in his mouth, as if he’s being forced to spit out some poison.

“That would’ve meant something two weeks ago,” Trent replies, getting to his feet. As he walks past, he stops to gently touch Marcel’s hair, his big rough fingers briefly sliding down to the line of his jaw. Marcel swallows his tears and, for a second, lets himself enjoy the feeling. He’s close enough to smell Trent’s cologne, and he tries to savour it, commit it to memory.

“Goodbye, Marcel,” Trent says, soft yet firm.

“ _Lebewohl_ , Trent,” Marcel replies. Trent’s hand leaves his face. Marcel hears him cross the room, and he hears the door open and close, and then silence.


End file.
